Valentine's Day Treats
by ASongInMyHead
Summary: A series of very short ficlets for each of the five main couples [5/5- Jarred & Anna]
1. No One But You

_Note: This is the first part on a small series I'll be writing this week, as Valentine's Day treats for my followers on Tumblr. I'm doing one very short story for each of the five main canon couples._

* * *

Marilen could hardly contain her joy. For the first time in the nearly thirty-five years she had lived, she was truly free. No longer was she bound by the chains of a curse; no longer was she under the protective eyes of her father; no longer was her body made heavy by the weight of the Belt.

The streets of Del were a labyrinth of bodies. Everywhere, people laughed and cried with loved ones many had not seen for years. An old woman with a brand on her wrinkled cheek was embraced by her sobbing grown children. A couple were locked in a passionate kiss that looked as if it might be endless. A young man smiled and wept as he held his wife, and met his child for the very first time.

But there were others, too, who wandered the streets, calling the names of the people they loved who had not come home, or searching for the families they had hoped would be waiting for them. And as Marilen hurried back to the palace steps she saw Doom speaking to three freed slaves, although his eyes kept drifting aimlessly across the crowd, as if searching for someone he knew he would not find.

Ranesh was waiting for her, halfway down the stairs. His eyes were focussed on the spot where Lief, Barda, and Jasmine had been lost to the crowd, and his face was tight with tension.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, brushing his fingers unconsciously against the sleeve of her robe.

"Very well," she beamed. His face relaxed and he smiled; he was so lovely in the bright morning sun. Marilen had spent so many days in the library losing herself in that smile.

"It is a long tale, and I will tell it to you right away, I promise. But first—" her head was spinning— "first… I am through waiting for…"

Words suddenly tangled on her tongue and Ranesh grinned at her with bright eyes. She shook her head with a laugh, and kissed him hard. His hands threaded tenderly through her hair as he kissed her back.

She drew away after a long moment, a little breathless, but he did not let her go. She could feel people staring, but she cared not. Her heart was pounding. "I am through waiting and staying quiet," she tried again. Her words tasted like sparkling wine on her tongue. "I have done enough of that. I want you.I _love_ you. Marry me, Ranesh, and let us be happy together, always."

Ranesh's smile faded. He brushed his thumb against her cheekbone, and reluctantly let her go. "What of Lief?"

Marilen's eyes widened. She had nearly forgotten. "Nothing but rumours, Ranesh. I will tell you all, I swear. But my heart belongs to no one but you."

Ranesh's brow was still lined with confusion, but his hazel eyes shone. "But you know, I cannot promise you the same things that a nobleman of Tora might."

"I do not want what they might give me," she rested her hand upon his warm cheek, "I only want you."

"Then, yes!" he laughed. "Of course I will marry you, my love."

Marilen's heart sung, and she kissed him again. There was more to say, and more to do, but for the moment it was everything she wanted. In a land so scarred by pain and sorrow, it felt only fair that they had found a little light.


	2. A Learning Curve

_Note: This is part two in my tiny Valentine's Week series_

* * *

Lief was exhausted, but sleep refused to grant him peace. His head and body still throbbed from Neridah's blows, and his flesh had been scraped raw by the merciless Sands. The nights were growing cooler, which made sleeping outdoors all the more uncomfortable. He longed for his small bed at home, and for warm, hot cloths to press against his wounds. He could hear Barda's steady breathing beside him, and the crackle of the fire by his feet. With a sigh, he blinked his eyes open and sat up.

Jasmine had taken first watch. Her knees were folded to her chest and her hands wrapped around them. She turned away from the fire as he stirred, and gazed at him with red-rimmed eyes.

Lief recalled the dull, wounded expression on her face when he and Barda had congratulated her after she had beaten that strange man, Doom. He had been so excited for her at the time that he had not thought of what she might really be feeling.

"I would have done as you did," he murmured, half-thinking she would not hear.

"What?" Jasmine turned to him, her brow furrowed. The fire had flushed her cheeks, or perhaps it had been the scorching sun.

"What Doom did— what he said to you— that was cruel. If someone used my mother to hurt me, I would want to hurt them too."

Jasmine turned her doleful gaze back to the flames. "He was trying to make to make me angry, and I let him do it. It was a trick, and he did not even know what his words would mean to me." But a little of the tension seemed to melt from her shoulders.

That is what Jasmine needed sometimes, he had begun to realize. She did not want anyone to soothe her. She just wanted to be understood.

He shuffled closer to her, and his heart beat quickly, as it had when she had smoothed the healing balm onto his chest. Slowly, he reached out a tentative hand, and lightly covered her rough knuckles with his fingers. Her own fingers curled up with awkward tension but she did not pull away. She met his gaze, and reflected in her green eyes he saw sorrow and fear and hope. After a moment she shook her head as if to clear it, and turned back to the fire.

Knowing that she would say no more, Lief drew his hand away, and lay back down on the hard earth. He closed his eyes and felt sleep suddenly begin to drag him under. Just as darkness flooded his mind, he heard her whisper so softly that he would later believe he dreamt her words, for when Barda woke him for his watch he would not remember what she had said.


	3. Toast to A Lifetime of This

_This is part three in a series of Valentine's Day ficlets I'm writing for Tumblr._

* * *

The people of Broome danced wildly under the moonlight, celebrating the surprise visit from their beloved king and his famous friends, even three days after they had arrived. Torches circled the field, and tables were laid with drinks and small morsels of food that could be spared. Musicians threaded through the crowd, inciting cheers from whoever they passed. Barda stood away from the noise and the revellers, content to sip his drink and observe the happy chaos.

Lindal emerged from the whirling crowd and raised her brows when she saw him. The painted swirls on her head looked like flames in the light of the torches.

"So, this is where you have been hiding," she grinned broadly. "Are you too good to dance, old bear? It would seem your young friends are not."

Barda followed Lindal's gaze. Lief and Jasmine were just visible through a veil of dancers, doubled over with laughter as a group of other youths eagerly tried to teach them the proper steps. He could not help but smile fondly: it was far too rare that they were given a chance to act their age.

"Not at all," he said dryly. "I am waiting to see which of your people lands the first blow. This looks more like a brawl than a party."

Lindal chuckled. "Are you getting to old for a fight?"

He snorted. "Certainly not."

She laughed louder, and gripped his shoulder with a strong hand. There was no hesitance or uncertainty in her gesture— he could not imagine that she had ever experienced those feelings in her life.

"Good." Her hand slid lower and came to rest on his wrist. She squeezed it tight and pulled him into the mad crowd. "Now prove it."


	4. then let's do our very best to fake it

Time was running out. If he made even one mistake, all would be lost. Already he was cornered, and quickly running out of moves.

Endon bit his lip as he stared harder at the game board.

"Do you want me to help you?" Sharn did not attempt to hide the laughter in her voice. Her scarlet-painted lips curled in a mischievous smile.

"No, no," he chuckled. "I need just a moment."

They were seated on their bedroom floor upon soft cushions. Bowls of fresh fruits and cream lay beside them, and they were separated by the yellow-and-blue checkered game board. Endon tapped his finger against one of his little yellow tiles. Her blue pieces greatly outnumbered what he had left on the board, and she had stacked the tiles she had captured from him like a hoard of treasure.

His only hope was to sacrifice a tile, for Sharn had trapped him completely, and pray that it would allow him to make a better move on his next turn. With a sigh, he slide one of his tiles forward. Sharn cried out in triumph, and skipped her tile over his. She collected his forfeited piece, and placed it at the top of her pile.

"You are enjoying this far too much," Endon smiled at his wife and leaned back on his hands. Losing was almost worth it, if it meant he could see the delight on her face.

Sharn dipped a ruby-coloured berry into the bowl of cream and popped it into her mouth. "Oh, I certainly am."

The sound of the door opening caused them both to turn. Prandine had entered the bedroom without knocking, wearing a thin smile on his face. A ring of elaborate keys dangled from his fingers. Endon felt a heavy twist of guilt in his belly, as if they had been caught doing something wrong.

"Good evening, your majesties," Prandine said indulgently, as if talking to small children. "I had not heard from you for quite a while, and I worried. I am glad to see all is well."

Sharn laughed, a tinkling and charming sound, like wind chimes caught in a breeze. The clever young woman who had just teased him was gone. In her place was a girl, a child, who sat on the floor and looked up at Prandine with happy, empty eyes. Once again, Endon was struck by a wave of unease. "We are very well, Prandine," she said sweetly. "We are playing a game."

"I can see that," Prandine's eyes drifted to the beautifully carved table in the centre of the cavernous room. "And do you not wish to be properly seated, my queen?"

"I told Endon it would be more fun to play it on the floor," she said. That, at least, was true.

Endon copied Sharn's smile as Prandine turned to him. "Is there something we are needed for, or may we play a little longer?" he asked politely.

Prandine gave him a satisfied nod. "I would not dream of interrupting you," he left the room with a bow, closing the cream-and-gold door behind him.

Endon shifted on his cushion to face his wife. Her fists were clenched tightly in her lap, turning her knuckles white. She was herself once more, even if she was displeased.

"He has a key to our bedroom," she said with deceptive mildness. "Somehow, I did not know."

"He has a key to every room," Endon defended his advisor half-heartedly. It had been nearly four years since he had thought of Prandine as his true protector; nearly four years since Jarred had fled from the palace. Prandine had told him that Jarred had thrown himself into the sea to escape his shame and fear, but Endon had never felt that to be true. And as time passed he had even began to question the accusations Prandine had flung at Jarred that terrible morning.

Sharn shook her head, but relaxed her hands.

"I wish you did not have to act as you do around him," Endon said softly. "It makes me worry for you."

She gazed at him, her eyes full of fondness. "He would not care for the person I am," she told him simply.

It hurt Endon's heart to dwell too much upon that, but he knew she was right. He could not risk losing her: she had become a bright light in the vast darkness of the palace. He had known her only a year, but it had been the best year since the death of his parents and the loss of his dearest friend.

" _I_ care for you," he said almost shyly, feeling his face grow warm.

Sharn smiled— her true and lovely smile— and stretched across the board to kiss his cheek. As she leaned back, she picked up one of her tiles and skipped it across his last four pieces.

"I win."


	5. you're the only one who recovers me

Anna had a song for every occasion. She had songs for working, songs for cooking, songs for walking, songs for laughing, songs for tears. Jarred had memorized them all.

"Why are you not singing?" Jarred asked in jest, trying his best to ignore the pain in his arm.

"What?" she snapped. "Stop moving."

"Sorry," Jarred said sheepishly, and moved his arm closer to her on the table.

Anna huffed, and a lock of dark hair fluttered away from her face. "You must be more careful, Jarred."

"I know."

He had not meant to be so foolish. Crian had gone to the market, and Anna to a friend's house, and so Jarred had spent the morning contently working in the forge alone. Privacy in their home was such a rare treat: they all savoured it when it could be found, and so he did not mind. But then Anna had returned, and he had watched as she had entered the gate. Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, and the lazy afternoon sun had shot her dark hair with threads of gold. The bellows slipped from his hands and the forge's flames had risen to eagerly lick at his prone wrists. He had cried out, and Anna had too, as she rushed to his side.

And now they sat at the kitchen table; Anna's face very cross as she mashed a poultice in her mortar and pestle.

"You are lucky you got yourself out quickly," she said sullenly. She pulled his arm closer and scooped her fingers into the mortar. She smeared a pale green paste on his wrist— it smelled of sour milk— and Jarred could not help but gasp. The poultice seemed to light the fire once again. He gritted his teeth and doubled over in his chair.

"Hush," she soothed gently, forgetting her anger for a moment. Her fingers were gentle on his skin, and lit a different sort of fire on his flesh.

Slowly, the poultice ebbed the pain away, like water being rung from a cloth. Jarred threw his head back in relief.

"You are brilliant," he said, his head still tilted and his eyes closed as the pain leached slowly away. " _Oh_ , I will marry you one day."

Anna dropped his hand and laughed. His heart leapt, for it had been he who made her happy— it was only unfortunate that she thought he was joking.

"I do not mean to be cross," she promised, still breathless with laughter. "I only worried."

She pulled her hand away and reached for a roll of bandages she had taken from the cupboard. She tore a piece out with her teeth and began to wrap it around his wrist. It was slow work, as if she feared abrading his flesh. She hummed to herself as she worked, a folksong that had become familiar to Jarred. He knew all the words, because he had heard her sing them dozens of times. He began to hum it with her, hardly noticing until he saw her smiling up at him.

"You know that song," she said.

"Of course I do," he told her. She tied a knot on his bandage, and he drew his fist close against his heart. "It is your favourite."

—

Later, so much later, Doom stood in the little kitchen in the forge's cottage. The room smelled of the fish stew that had been eaten for supper, and fragrant tea, and maybe a little dust. When he was younger he had imagined himself standing in that room, gently rocking his children to sleep in his arms. But the forge was his no longer. He held an infant in his arms, but she was not his. And yet it seemed that everything was as it should be.

Anna shifted in arms. She was so small, not even two weeks old. Her parents were so very reluctant to let her go— it had been difficult for even Doom to convince them to let him hold her so that they could find a little rest.

His granddaughter slept so sweetly. Doom cradled her fragile head in his rough hand. "You will be brilliant, sweet one," he said roughly, passing his calloused thumb across her brow, "just like your grandmother."


End file.
